


Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

by Rehfan



Series: White Ladder [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Break Up, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, More angst, Mutilation, Poor Self-Image, Regret, Sad, Scars, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, WAY more angst, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our boys are busy tying up loose ends. And trying not to get tangled.</p>
<p>The arc of a relationship. Two people who are meant to be with one another will always find one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Uses His Head

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sherlock Johnlock fanfic that is based on the music of David Gray's album, White Ladder. Each chapter is named after each track in sequence and is headed with a quote from that particular song.
> 
> The album was released in 1999, but it's one of my favorite albums and it is available for download on iTunes. Please download it. You won't regret it.
> 
> Part Ten can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjy3jWLz4Fk  
> (Originally done by the band Soft Cell.)

“Take your hands off me, please.  
I don’t belong to you, you see.  
Take a look at my face for the last time.  
I never knew you. You never knew me.  
Say hello, goodbye.”

 

 

Greg Lestrade bought the first round. He and John sat in the pub after the long week they had both had. The DI had wrapped up a simple smash-and-grab job without the aid of a certain consulting detective, and John… well. Greg knew that John needed that drink more than he did this week.

“Alright, mate,” said Greg, carrying the drinks to the table John had found. It was Friday and the place was packed. Thinking better of his words, Greg said: “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask.”

John managed a half-smile. “It’s alright, Greg. My life’s shit right now and you, more than anyone, know all about it. I can’t thank you enough for putting me up.”

“It’s no difficulty, John. Happy to help. Only…,” he said.

“What?” asked John. He took a long pull of his lager.

“Well…,” Greg began. “What about Sherlock?”

John looked at him quizzically. ‘What do you mean, ‘What about Sherlock’?” John had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was leading, but decided to let it play out. “Is anything wrong?”

“Well…,” said Greg, clearly embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “Sherlock’s been… well… weirder than usual lately.”

“Weirder?” asked John. “How is that even possible?”

“He’s been…more… ‘Sherlockian’ as of late,” said Greg. “He’s deducing everyone he comes across. I’ve given up all my cold cases to him and he’s solved them all – even ones he turned down in the past. It’s like he grasping at straws to stay sane. There just haven’t been any big crimes lately and… well… you know how he gets.”

“Greg, why didn’t you tell me all this before?” said John. John was usually the only thing between Sherlock and madness. When Sherlock was bored, it was bad news for everyone, especially Sherlock. Sherlock told John once after they made love that John was able to get Sherlock’s brain to shut off. Sex with John wasn’t all just orgasmic pleasure for Sherlock. It was a relief from his own mind, a respite, an escape. It was a peace he could get from nowhere else.

“It makes you special, John. Entirely unique. You are the only thing between me and madness sometimes,” Sherlock had said. That was as completely flattering as it was terrifying. John felt the weight of the responsibility of that power ever since. When everything stopped between them, John made sure he was always there for Sherlock in moments of boredom. Not as a sexual partner. Sherlock made it abundantly clear that he wanted no more of sex. John was there for Sherlock as a friend. 

Come hell or high water, John would always be the stopgap between Sherlock and the demon Boredom.

John hated to think of what would happen to London in general if a bored Sherlock roamed its streets, not to mention what would happen to Sherlock. The thought alone made John sick.

“I didn’t want to worry you too much about him,” said Greg. “I mean… I know he had his close calls in the past with drugs and all, but ever since you, he’s been clean. I am hoping that there’s no danger there. And I know he can take care of himself. After all, he is a grown man.”

“You sound like Mary,” said John, suddenly miserable. He had managed to go a whole twenty minutes just then without thinking about her.

The breakup between them was as wide as a chasm. John really put his foot into it when he called out Sherlock’s name during sex with her. He still couldn’t believe that he allowed it to happen. Poor Mary.

Greg put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Easy, mate,” he said knowingly. “Regrets are alright, just don’t wallow. You know?”

“Yeah,” said John. He downed the rest of his pint in one and got up. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

“Yeah,” said Greg, watching him carefully. “Alright.”

 

~080~

 

John stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. It was covered in those glow-in-the-dark stars. Greg’s kids slept there when they visited him. John found the fake stars, planets, and comets strangely comforting. As he gazed at them he recalled Sherlock’s ignorance about the solar system. John smiled. Sherlock would hate those stars. The thought made John chuckle.

He stopped himself. How could he laugh when he knew how miserable he made Mary last weekend? The whole thing was his fault.

He had done what he had done and, to her credit, Mary didn’t cause a scene. She could have, of course. She had every right to. But she didn’t. She had this deep sense of dignity about her. She was truly one in a million.

He should have valued her more. He should have been more in love with her. He should have made more of an effort. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have. When they met, he still wasn’t over Sherlock. John doubted that he’d ever truly be over Sherlock.

The man was astounding. He could look at someone, glance at a crime scene, observe a criminal in the docks, and know everything instantly. John was in awe of a mind like that. But a mind like that needed to be constantly used. It needed stimuli. Interaction. It just couldn’t exist the way the rest of humanity did. It couldn’t just empty itself of all thoughts and relax. A mind like that would never rest. John couldn’t comprehend what Sherlock had to be going through right now.  
John worried that it would be a danger night tonight. Mycroft used to call him when things got rough. Greg would occasionally be in contact. But the past six months have been eerily quiet. It was strange. John thought he would ask Greg about it in the morning.

And morning would be coming soon enough.

John wondered what Mary was doing. Was she lying awake too? Was she thinking of him? Was she crying? Was she asleep? That one-in-a-million girl. She deserved better treatment than John had shown her. She needed a man who could focus on her and only her. One who wouldn’t be preoccupied with the thought of another constantly buzzing around their brain. She needed someone…

Perhaps…

No.

But then… why not? What the hell? And besides, he’d want it to be someone she trusted. And it would be someone John trusted as well.

It was something to sleep on anyway.

 

~080~

 

“You told me that Sherlock was more… ‘Sherlockian’ lately,” began John.

“Hmm?” said Greg. His nose was in the sport section of the paper and his coffee mug was at his lips. John had prepared breakfast that morning. He tried to convince himself that it was a way of paying Greg back for helping him out. Truth is, John had been awake for most of the night and got up first, so he decided to make himself useful.

“Sherlock,” said John. “How was he ‘more Sherlock’ than normal?”

“He was just nose-deep in even the most mundane cases,” said Greg, putting down the paper and thoughtfully sipping on his coffee. “He seemed content with it too. Really weird… for Sherlock, that is.”

“That is a bit odd,” said John, chewing on a piece of toast and jam. “He’s usually quite picky as to what he chooses to investigate.”

“I know,” said Greg. “I can’t figure it. Never thought I’d need a Sherlock to investigate Sherlock.” After a moment he said: “Although… The job could use someone who knows him. Why don’t you go by 221B today? I’m sure he’ll be around. He usually never leaves the flat when there’s no big anything going on.”

“I know all too well about his stroppy, ‘I-think-I’ll-hate-the-universe-because-no-one’s-been-clever-enough-to-kill-someone-and-think-they’ve-gotten-away-with-it’ mood,” said John. “Lived with it for years, remember? I’ll not look forward to his attitude if he’s bored.” John thoughtfully chewed his toast and added: “Yeah, I think I will go by. If only to see the bastard.”

Greg perked up at this. “Hey,” he said. “Here’s a thought: why don’t you find out if he’d be willing to take you back in. You know, give you your old room back.”

“Jesus, man,” said John. “I’m only here one week and you’re kicking me out already?”

“No, no!” said Greg. “Nothing like that. You know you can stay here as long as you please. Only… you can’t live here forever, mate. 221B is the best option for you – unless you want to hunt down another flat share.”

“I really don’t relish the thought of sharing with Sherlock again, to be honest,” said John.

“John, mate,” said Greg. He heaved a sigh. “Listen, I didn’t want to get this personal so soon after your separation from Mary, but I really need to level with you: Sherlock’s fucking miserable without you, man. I don’t know how he’s as in control as he is, considering he hasn’t had a case in months… but you… you heal him. You’re more than just a friend to him, John. You’re his only bloody friend.

“For the first few weeks after you left, he was trying everyone’s patience. Now, he’s just sort of annoying, but with you about, he had a distraction… no. A focus. You helped him focus. He needs that back.

“I know I sound like a right selfish bastard for begging like this, but I’m sort of concerned that Sherlock will have a relapse and go back to drugs… or worse. He’s a good man, deep down. You helped bring that out in him. You can help him again.

“Go back to Baker Street, John. Just see him. You’ll see what I mean, I think.”

“Greg,” said John. “There’s nothing there for me except Sherlock’s moodiness… I don’t know. He’s… It’s like loving someone that you know doesn’t love you back and going back to stand at their side anyway. It’s… flippin’ masochistic. I mean… I love him. I do. But being around him… it’s not that simple.” He looked hard at Greg. “I want what we had back. And Sherlock doesn’t. Plain and simple.”

“I really don’t get you,” said Greg. “Listen to yourself, John! You’ve given up even before you started! You fought harder for what you had with Mary than you ever did with what you had with Sherlock. With him, you just sort of accepted his decision and didn’t argue. I always wondered why you didn’t fight. You should have, you know.”

At this, John broke eye contact with Greg and studied the toast in his hand. Greg was completely right, of course. He never really did fight for his relationship with Sherlock. A pang of guilt wracked his body and his leg throbbed.

“And…,” Greg added, sheepishly. “I think you miss him. Hell, I know you do. What happened between you and Mary was pretty damning, evidence-wise. If you don’t go back, you won’t ever get a chance to tell him how you really feel, will you? Personally, I think you owe it to yourself to see what’s there for you and him. It’d be a pity if there’s something there and you let it die… twice.”

John stared at Greg. He knew he was right, but what was the use of John telling Sherlock that he was still in love with him when Sherlock didn’t want him? Despair weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Nevertheless, John told Greg that he would go to Baker Street that day, but he made no promises. The last time he visited Sherlock on a purely social basis, Sherlock had practically drowned him in derision. He wouldn’t live with that day in and day out, especially when Sherlock could deduce at a glance the fact that he and Mary were quits. John was sure he’d never hear the end of it from Sherlock.

John had a thought. He said to Greg: “I’ll make a deal with you. If I move back to Baker Street, you have to promise to look in on Mary from time to time.”

“What?” said Greg. “Is she not OK? Do you think she’ll do something… bad?”

“No!” said John. “No, nothing like that. I only thought… that if she needed someone… Well… She told me once that you had a nice face, a face you could trust.”

Greg blushed slightly at this. He had only met Mary once or twice in the past and had only had one long-ish conversation with her when John had brought her to a crime scene for some inexplicable reason. She was really quite a nice person to be around. Dead attractive too.

Greg looked at John, evaluating the man. Finally he said: “Alright, mate. Deal.”

“Just look in on her. Be there. She’s really independent, but I would feel better knowing that she had a bloke that she could lean on if she needed to,” said John. “Don’t press her. Just… stand by.”

“I get it, mate,” said Greg. “You want me to be the strong, silent type.” He chuckled a bit and then added: “I think I can do that.”

There was a bit of a silence between the two men. Greg broke it by saying: “What if something… happens?”

“Happens?” said John.

“Between us…,” said Greg awkwardly. “After a while. You know… boy and girl stuff. Human nature takes over after a bit, John.”

John cleared his throat. He knew that subject would come up, but he wasn’t as prepared for it as he thought. “I suppose… whatever happens… happens.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. John shrugged. John said, “I’m out of it. And she’s a big girl, mate. Give her enough time and space and she’ll decide for herself what she wants to do. Just… don’t pressure her. Let her decide.”

Greg sipped his coffee thoughtfully. John bit into his toast and found it difficult to suppress the smile that played along his lips.

 

~080~

 

The shower ran cool over his hot skin. Summer in London was beginning to wear on John’s nerves. He closed his eyes and thought of his impending visit to Baker Street.

He wanted to go back to that flat and throw himself at Sherlock in the most desperate manner possible. He missed that man so much he ached – literally. His leg was worse and worse with each passing day. Pretty soon he’d have to take baths instead of showers because he wouldn’t be able to support his weight.

Silently, John washed his body and scrubbed his hair. He leaned against the tile and massaged his leg. He wished Sherlock were there to do it for him. He was half hard at the thought.

He really wasn’t in the mood for a wank. He still felt too guilty about Mary, even though he thought Greg and Mary would make a good couple. There was no guarantee that Mary would like Greg in that way. John could only hope that it was a round-about way of atoning for his misconduct, disrespect, and disloyalty. John heaved a sigh, washed the remaining soap from his skin and got out of the shower.

His dick twitched. John had ignored it in the past. This time was no exception, but perhaps he should try to have a wank. After all, he was about to be in the presence of that... disturbing individual.

Oh God, Sherlock. What have you done to me?

John got back in the shower, the water running as hot as he could stand it. He used a bit of soap to slick himself up and closed his eyes. As always, Sherlock’s crystalline blue eyes appeared before him. God, he was beautiful.

In his mind’s eye, Sherlock was sitting in his chair in 221B wearing his black suit with the purple shirt. John fucking loved that shirt. The damn thing was so tight. John was always tempted to rip the thing off of him. John leaned on the tiles with his forearm and pressed his head to the cool tile thinking of all the different ways he could remove that shirt. But the best way was to have Sherlock do it himself... and make John watch.

Sherlock was slowly exposing all that beautiful skin, button by over-taxed button. He was staring at John intently watching his every reaction. Sherlock stood, pulling the shirt from his trousers and proceeded to unfasten his belt. Slowly, teasingly he unbuttoned his trousers and lowered the zipper. John could see his hardened cock beneath the material of those navy blue silk boxer pants he had bought Sherlock. His beautiful dick was straining to get out.

His imaginary self reached out to help Sherlock and he swatted John’s hand away and gave him a stern look. “No, John. You watch me. Keep your eyes fixed on me. Enjoy this.”

Sherlock slowly lowered the boxers, exposing his pulsing cock. There was just a trace of precum at the tip and the foreskin wasn’t completely retracted. John wanted desperately to lick Sherlock’s slit, but he was told the rules: no touching.

Sherlock sat back down and proceeded to wank, staring at John the entire time under half-lidded eyes. The man looked debauched already and had barely touched himself. John felt his hard cock throb at the sight and increased his pressure, his breath coming in stutters. He was so close to coming. He wanted Sherlock to be here to watch him wank in the shower. He pictured Sherlock standing at one end of the shower masturbating while watching John masturbate. The rivulets of water came down over his shoulders and along his chest. His hair was soaked and slicked back. He looked so different without his curls: more dangerous, almost deadly. Fuck. What a turn-on. Sherlock's eyes practically burned incandescent. His muscles rippled under all that taught white flesh. It was too much.

John felt his orgasm cresting and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making too much noise. As he came, he could hear Sherlock’s panting words in his head as the dream detective climaxed: “Come on, John… come for me… Mine, John… You are mine… always… all mine. Fucking come for me… ah! Ah! Oh… John! John John!! John JohnJohnJohnJohn…”

It took John a few dizzying minutes to recover. He got out of the shower and dried off. As he dressed, his mind was a blank. It had been a long two weeks since he had been to 221B. He tried to convince himself he could handle this.

John Watson finally stepped outside Greg's flat and steeled himself to face the battlefield that was Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Sherlock Uses His Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys are busy tying up loose ends. And trying not to get tangled.
> 
> The arc of a relationship. Two people who are meant to be with one another will always find one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sherlock Johnlock fanfic that is based on the music of David Gray's album, White Ladder. Each chapter is named after each track in sequence and is headed with a quote from that particular song.
> 
> The album was released in 1999, but it's one of my favorite albums and it is available for download on iTunes. Please download it. You won't regret it.
> 
> Part Ten can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjy3jWLz4Fk  
> (Originally done by the band Soft Cell.)

"Under the deep red light, I can see the make-up sliding down.  
Well hey little girl, you will always make-up so take off that unbecoming frown.  
As for me well, I'll find someone who's not going cheap in the sales.  
A nice little house wife who'll give me the steady life and not keep going off the rails."

 

Mycroft Holmes practically lived at the Diogenese Club. Leather bound chairs, quiet authoritative men being quiet, surrounded by tradition, structure, and rules; the place practically screamed Mycroft Holmes.

“Well, dear brother,” said Mycroft. It was meant to be a warm greeting, but somehow to Sherlock it always had a hollow ring to it. “What brings you here? Ah! I perceive. You have a plan of action in mind to somehow get John back in your life in a more… intimate role. Excellent. I can’t wait to see it unfold.”

“Oh Mycroft, why do you have to always sound like one of those villains from those tiresome spy thriller movies John loves so much? Honestly, all your missing is the long-haired Persian cat in your arms,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes.

“Really, Sherlock,” said Mycroft, exasperated. “What is it you want?”

“I want you to ship off Irene Adler,” said Sherlock. “I have no further use for her… services.”

“So you do have plans to get John back,” said Mycroft.

“Obviously,” said Sherlock. He stared at his brother. “Well? Will you ship her out or not?”

“Of course, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. “Just so long as you’re sure whatever scheme you have going will work.”

“It’s not a ‘scheme’, Mycroft,” said Sherlock. “It’s a sensible plan, well thought out, and entirely logical.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mycroft. “I’m sure it is. Well then… I see no further reason to keep her in the country. Getting rid of her and throwing her off to the Americans seems almost like dropping a bio-weapon on the States, but well… that thought just makes me a bit… happy.”

“Have you no shame, Mycroft?” said Sherlock, only half-mocking his brother.

“Shame, yes. Guilt, no,” said Mycroft dryly. “It’s the only reason I can do what I do, dear brother.” Then he added: “And besides, have you ever met an American?”

They each exchanged a low chuckle.

 

~080~

 

“Well, Mr. Holmes,” said Irene. “To what do I owe this honor? You usually text me. You never just drop by unannounced.” She gave him an appraising look as he strode past her into her bright sitting room. “I take it that things have changed.”

“With our arrangement, yes,” Sherlock replied simply. He never met her gaze. He stood in the middle of the open space and looked around. No personal items on display. This loft flat could belong to any art student anywhere in London and, knowing his brother, it probably did. It pays to have the British Government on your side.

“May I ask why?” she said, taking her usual lounging posture on the sofa. A smile played upon her lips.

“I think you already have your suspicions,” he replied, eying her warily.

“Mmm… I may have a few,” she said.

He strode over to needlessly inspect a non-descript urn on the mantle. “Your thoughts?”

“Oh we could play this cat and mouse game all day, Sherlock. But truth be told, I’m really not in the mood, so I’ll cut to the chase: I think you’ve figured out a way to get your boy back,” she said.

Sherlock smiled, still gazing intently at the urn. He turned to her. “Clever girl,” he said.

“Ooh… high praise,” she replied. “How, pray tell, do you intend to get him back? I don’t ask to pry so much as I’m just a –“

“A hopeless romantic, yes,” he finished for her. “I don’t intend to do anything. He will come to me. All I have to do is wait.”

“Ah, as the spider waits for the fly,” she said. “And do you suppose it will be that simple?”

“Of course it will,” said Sherlock. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I know that the last person I would want to live with is the man who spurned me. Why take a step backward like that? No sane person would even dream of it,” she said. “And besides, it’s not like you’re a treat to live with.”

“John will come back,” Sherlock said firmly. “Where else has he to go?”

“Well…,” Irene thought aloud, tapping a red varnished nail to her chin. “There’s that lovely detective inspector… or that lab girl… or perhaps he could stomach living with his sister…”

“You know entirely too much about John,” said Sherlock with distain.

“And you know entirely too little,” she said. “Or rather, you’re not seeing the practical side of this.”

“What are you talking about?” he said. “I’ve considered this from every angle. He wouldn’t stay with Lestrade forever. His ex-wife and their kids would drive them both barmy. Molly Hooper isn’t having anyone in her tiny flat; she can barely fit her cat in with her. And as for Harry… well…” Sherlock made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Alright, so say he goes back to 221B,” she said. She sat forward, her elbows on her knees. “What happens then? You want him back as a lover, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Sherlock, frankly. “I love John. I’ve always loved John. I’d want all of him back with me.”

“Fine,” she said. “What happens the first time you attempt to kiss him? Will he stop you? Will he want that from you knowing that you could change your mind at any time?”

“Don’t be stupid, Woman. I would never push John to do anything he didn’t want to do. It may take time, but I’m willing to wait, to build up a trust between us again,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, incredulous. “Are you saying that the most impatient man on the planet is willing to WAIT for something?”

“Oh shut up,” he replied. He turned from her and walked to the door. “Our arrangement is over. I’ve already contacted Mycroft. You can leave the country for America tomorrow.”

“You’re still not thinking of everything, Mr. Holmes,” she called after him. “You have a very big problem.” Sherlock kept walking toward the door.

“What happens when you strip for him?” she asked.

Sherlock stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her.

“Say you do convince him to try again,” she said. “What happens when he wants to have sex?”

Sherlock turned around to face her properly.

“What happens when he sees those scars on your back? What will you tell the good doctor?”

Irene Adler was absolutely correct: Sherlock Holmes had a very big problem.

 

~080~

 

He stared at himself in the full-length mirror of his wardrobe. There weren’t many traces of Irene’s ‘ministrations’, but those that were there were fairly obvious, even to the untrained eye. But then, Sherlock’s body was full of little scars.

There was the cut he suffered from that scimitar during the break in at 221B four years ago, a bullet graze he received at the hands of drug traffickers, and the chemical burn he obtained at uni; they were all marks he had earned in his life. The scars from the cat o’nine tails were no different. They were located sporadically over his back, buttocks and thighs. The cuts it had made weren’t deep; he had only been under its torture twice in the past six months, but they did criss-cross his body – and John would notice.

John had told him once that Sherlock’s arse was like a work of art. Now that masterpiece was marred. And it was all Sherlock’s fault.

He had felt he didn’t deserve John’s affection. Sherlock wanted to be punished for his mistreatment of John during their brief relationship. Because, truth be told, John was the greatest thing that had ever happened to Sherlock.

For the first time in Sherlock’s life he had a true mate, one who would stand by him through thick and thin. A mate that wouldn’t make him feel like less of a human being because of his observational skills. A mate that would help him with his less-than-stellar human relations skills. Someone upon whom he could rely.

And for a time, he also had a true love. John’s confession of love appeared in Sherlock’s memory. It was such a pure admission. He should have changed his mind then and there to be brave for John. Sherlock should have decided to allow their relationship to continue. But he didn’t. And as a result, he lost the only person who ever loved him for himself. 

Sherlock looked at the scars and did his best to hold back his tears. John would be so disappointed.

Everyone leaves. Everyone leaves in the end. Once John sees these scars, he’ll leave me for good. He’ll be disgusted with me. I would. Who does this to themselves? Not anyone worth loving. What am I going to do?

Oh yes… Sherlock Holmes had a very big problem.


End file.
